Clean Up in Sporting Goods the Full Story
by Dreadedfemale
Summary: This is the expanded version of "Clean Up in Sporting Goods". Sam and Dean encounter a very angry spirit in an unusual place. A sporting goods store. There will be chaos and H/C with a dash of funny. Rated because I'm sure there will be language.


A/N: Ok I know I have two other WIP's that need finishing and I swore I wasn't going to work on anything else until I finished them but I have really been having a hard time with my AU. Lack of feedback has me wondering if it's even worth it to finish edit and post the three chapters I have already almost completed or if I should just leave it. Meanwhile I had mentioned a while back an expansion of my E/O challenge piece "Clean Up in Sporting Goods" and feeling a deep need to write yet having little inspiration for the others I began. I will try to update this once a week at least. It will be multi-chapter but mot as wicked long as the others.

Disclaimer: Not mine dammit!!

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The massive black Chevy grumbles through the parking lot surrounding the Brown Bear Hunting and Sporting Megastore as its driver rejects parking slot after parking slot.

"Dean you passed another one."

"Are you nuts? No way am I parking my baby next to a Pinto. Besides, did you see the rust on that thing? I'll bet it's catching." He leans forward looking left then right.

"Okay how bout that one?"

"Too narrow."

"That one?"

"Not long enough. Don't want her ass to get tagged."

Sam huffs out an exasperated breath. Draws his hand through his hair. _One, two, three….._

"How about that one up there. Next to that red car. It looks sufficiently well kept. No rust. Clean hubs."

"Yeah but it's a Mustang."

"So?"

"Come on Sammy. What'd that old guy tell us about Mustangs?"

"Seriously? You are such a twelve year old! We've been driving around for like 10 minutes now and you've passed like 25 spots. Park already!"

"Hey, don't get your panties in a twist. Gimme a sec."

"There's one. Dean!"

"Hang on."

"Stop! Just, stop the car."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'd like to get inside the store sometime before I need a walker."

"Fine." Dean scowls, deftly maneuvering the car into the exact center of the rectangular parking slot. To his left sits a soft gold Kia Sedona on his right a pale blue Honda Odyssey. _Freakin' soccer moms._

"Happy?" He says with a look like he's just swallowed a handful of ectoplasm.

"You know what? I am. Let's get this over with. There are a few things I want to check out before we start this next job." Sam reaches into the center console and pulls out a small black box. "Visa or MasterCard?"

"Visa."

"What's the name on the one with the huge limit again?"

"Seymour."

"That a first or last name?"

"First."

"Think I got i….Dude. Dude! You are unbelievable you know that."

Dean laughs his foul mood momentarily forgotten. "What?"

"Seymour Bhuttz. You really are twelve years old. I'm not paying with this."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You have got to lighten up." He flashes a huge grin, quirks his eyebrows and plucks the Visa Platinum from Sam's fingers.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"Push the cart."

"No. You push the cart. Why do I always have to push the cart?"

"Cuz you're the girl." Dean pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and walks away whistling.

Sam grudgingly yanks a cart from the corral pushing it ahead of him and grumbling under his breath.

"Come on _Nancy_," Dean yells over his shoulder, "we don't have all day."

"Ass."

15 minutes later Sam adds two more boxes of Winchester Ranger SXT .45 caliber rounds to the stack already in the cart.

"Any more ammo?" He asks.

"Naw. That should do. Let's go see what they got for knives. I'd like to replace the Gator you lost in that goblin couple weeks ago. 'Scuse me Miss."

The _maybe_ twenty-something girl walking past stops and turns. She's wearing a brown polo with the stores logo on the front and a huge grin. "Can I help you sir."

And if she's not flirting then Sam's a librarian.

"Where would I find the hunting knives?" Dean returns the grin with a side of wink wink.

If it's possible her smile gets even wider. "Back of the store two aisles over. There's a big glass case. You can't miss it."

Gah. Can't take the man anywhere without him spewing pheromones all over the place. He was like an alley cat.

"Thanks." Dean nods giving her a one-fingered forehead salute. She titters, starts to walk away. Turns back around and hands Dean a business card. As soon as she's gone Dean opens his wallet and Tracy Spencer joins her sisters in Deandom behind a picture of the Impala he took just after he rebuilt it. Sad.

Her directions are flawless and they find the knives without incident.

The guy behind the counter already has his key in the knife case lock when it happens. A couple aisles over someone screams. Then shouting. They follow the din to the far corner where the girl Dean had spoken to earlier is standing, hands over her ears, screaming. Directly in her line of sight is the bloody disemboweled corpse of the store manager. Standing over the body just as bloody but considerably more alive is a guy. Early 20's at least. His eyes are wild, his lips a pale flat line, he's breathing hard and in his hand is a very nasty looking 7 inch long bowie knife.

"It wasn't me." He keeps repeating to himself. "It was Spike. Spike did it. It wasn't me." Two armed security guards run down the aisle and tackle the guy. He doesn't fight. Just keeps repeating over and over. "It was Spike."

The guards cuff the guy and start shooing away the crowd of gawkers gathering around them.

In a stroke of inspiration Dean pulls a badge from inside his jacket.

"Officer Hayward San Francisco P.D.. What in the hell is going on here?"

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A/N2: Ok Enkidu it's not "Forceful" Sam but remember that climbing pick? The one I stuck in Dean? Yeah you'll get to see that scene in detail. CIAO!


End file.
